Inch by Inch
by youroctober
Summary: I loved him more than words could say, and yet his pain was such that at times I feared he wouldn't make it. On nights like this, however, I became convinced that he would.


**Inch by Inch**

I held him close as he let loose the sobs that he needed to release. I felt his tears trickling onto my shoulder, smudging themselves on my neck.

"It's alright sweetheart," I muttered. I ran my fingers through his wonderfully silky black hair and sighed. No, it wasn't alright. Of course it wasn't alright. But what else was I expected to say?

He pulled back, as if he was reading my thoughts, and shook his head. My heart twisted more than it already had as I watched my beautiful, heartbroken lover be so shattered that he was at a loss for words.

"Yes it will." I pushed his hair out of his face and forced a weak smile. "It was just a nightmare baby. That's all."

"But it's a replay of what happened," he choked. "He's there, and I'm there, and he g-goes, and I'm all alone, and..."

He buried his face back into the crook of my neck and I myself tried to fight back the tears. This was not the first time that Harry had been experiencing nightmares, and it certainly wouldn't be the last, but every time hurt as if it were the first.

"Harry," I said after a few minutes' silence. He leaned back and watched me attentively. "Harry, I know this is going to sound harsh, but you need to move on, love." I waited for a response, but when he simply watched me, I pressed on, "Ron wouldn't have wanted to see you like this. He wouldn't want you to be constantly mourning him."

"Are you kidding me?" I was momentarily alarmed until I saw a small smile appear on his face. "Ron would have wanted everyone to cry constantly over him. He would have wanted us reminiscing daily. He would have wanted all of the attention we could have given him."

I laughed.

"Fine, point taken," I said. "But all the same Harry, in the end, he would have wanted your happiness. I know he would have. Remember how he didn't want us being together? When he saw how happy you were, he let it go and he was happy for you. He learned to bear with me."

"I know," Harry replied. "But it's hard Draco, it's so hard."

"I don't mean now that you have to get over it now or anything," I assured him quickly. "We'll take it a day at a time. We'll get through it together."

He nodded, and my body became flooded with relief. I leaned forward, draped my arms around him, and planted a tender kiss on his lips. He responded eagerly. It was slow and gentle, as I expressed to him unspoken promises. Promises to support him, to love him, to see him through this.

He pushed me back and crawled onto me. My arms were around him, his ear was up against my heart and our legs were intertwined. It was his favourite position, one in which we had spent countless hours of me reading to him, watching the television or simply gazing outside on rainy days and talking. We would talk about everything: our futures, our jobs, our past at Hogwarts. We would laugh about old memories, such as our first Christmas. So surprised had Harry been that I had never heard of Santa Clause that he chose to dress himself up as the jolly old man and bring us a bundle of presents. So surprised had I been to see a burglar in a red suit prancing on top of my roof that I hexed him with a dozen or so curses. We spent Christmas Day at St. Mungo's, and when Harry finally came to consciousness, we laughed so hard that we could barely breathe.

As I reflected on our times spent together, I felt him lift his head. I noticed this a few months into our relationship: when you love someone, you tend to notice every slight movement that they make.

"Draco?" he whispered.

"Mm?"

"I love you."

I squeezed him so hard that I dared to break a couple of his ribs.

"I love you too."

He then re-arranged himself on me so that his forehead was pressed against mine.

"Really?" he was unbuttoning my shirt, taking his time with every individual button.

"Really."

He pushed his lips against mine and I felt his smile. We kissed again, although this time it was rougher than before. There was more of a pressing urgency behind our tongues as they wove around one another. We broke off so that he could assist me in taking off my shirt. As I tossed it into the hamper at the end of the bed, he removed his own and followed my example.

"You're always so neat," he mused, "even during sex."

"Hey, you're the one who insisted we vacuum every other day," I defended myself. "And that's what we're going to do now, is it? Sex?"

He responded by placing his warm, wet mouth over the bulge in my pants. He knew how I hated teasing, how I hated him when he made me beg for sex like some sort of desperate man.

"Harry," I said through gritted teeth.

He simply proceeded to remove my pants, revelling in the fact that I rarely wore underwear to bed. A habit I had picked up from him, of course. He trailed his breath across my cock, very much aware of the way that my breath became ragged. I was hard and pleading, hands attempting to push his face further towards my aching member.

He then raked the flesh with his tongue, agonizingly pressing the warmth into spots that he knew drove me crazy. My heart was thumping madly and I could barely take it. He then took it into his mouth and began a harsh rhythm which dragged a number of deep moans and incomprehensible words from my mouth. Just as I was about to find release, I shoved him away and reached towards the table beside us. A moment's fumbling rewarded me with a bottle of lube. I gently had my lover place himself into the ideal position and prepared his hole. I was so close to release that my hands were shaking. Throwing the bottle carelessly on the floor, I did not manage to give a warning but simply plunged into him.

He moaned my name and whimpered helplessly. I moved inside of him, thrusting as hard and fast as I could. My mind was a blur of desires and needs, a ringing sound played sharp in my ears and my heart dared to break out of my chest. I was almost there, I could feel it... any second now I was going to—

"Fuck!" I cried out. I was releasing deep into him, as his howl of "Draco!" came shortly after. We stayed like that for a while, simply basking in the deep satisfaction and love we were both feeling in great quantities, and then I pulled out. He slumped onto the bed and I laughed. I cleaned myself with a few tissues from the aforementioned table then came to rest in his arms. He occupied himself with kissing my forehead that was now glistening with sweat.

It was not going to be easy to help him forget about Ron. His best friend had sacrificed himself for him. Just when we had all thought that it was over, and Voldemort cast the final blow at Harry, Ron jumped in the way and was killed instantly. Harry reacted immediately, not wishing for Ron's death to be in vain, and sent a killing curse at Voldemort's chest. But as I ran towards him, finally freed from my mother's clutches, he barely seemed to acknowledge his victory. All that his mind could process was that Ron was dead.

There would always be a part of him that could do nothing but recognize that painful truth. There would always be times when he couldn't take it, and I had to rush in and embrace him and beg him to hang in there. But that night, when I finally drifted off to sleep, I knew that we would make him. I loved him too much to let him go. We would struggle together, inch by inch.


End file.
